


away! away! for i will fly to thee. thou wast not born for death

by braille_upon_my_skin



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phillip Carlyle Needs a Hug, Suicidal Ideation, past pet death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22901623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braille_upon_my_skin/pseuds/braille_upon_my_skin
Summary: "Ophelia was the name of my first pet. She was a dove- snow white, with a beak the color of carnation petals, and feathers as soft as down."--The tale of a boy and his bird; in three parts.
Relationships: P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	away! away! for i will fly to thee. thou wast not born for death

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there. It's me, again. 
> 
> I am still alive, and still writing. (When my silly brain allows for it.)
> 
> Currently, I'm juggling a handful of projects, including another set of fifty prompts, Barlyle style, which happens to be where this story comes from. Each part was written to fill a specific prompt, but, realizing that they were a complete story arc on their own, and swamped with guilt over not posting in nearly a year (!!), I compiled them into their own separate fic. 
> 
> Please, please, _please_ , I implore you to heed the tags. I do make things better, but the first part is pretty heavy, and your safety will always be more important to me than you reading any of my stories. 
> 
> With that said, and without further ado... tread softly, dear reader.
> 
> The title for this story originates from the, rather apt, _Ode to a Nightingale_ , by John Keats, whose work seems to be right up Phillip's alley.

i.

"Ophelia," Phillip murmurs into the silence of the bedroom.

"What's that, darling?" Phineas shifts on the bed to get a better look at his partner who lies on his back beside him, eyes fixed on the ceiling, distant, a thousand miles away. Or, perhaps, a thousand _years_ in the past.

"Ophelia was the name of my first pet. She was a dove- snow white, with a beak the color of carnation petals, and feathers as soft as down."

Phineas smiles, glad that Phillip has at least _one_ thing from his childhood worth reminiscing about.

"My parents had her wings clipped, and I was under strict orders to never let her leave her cage."

Well. Phineas can think of few things as tragic as a caged, flightless bird. "…I see," he says tentatively.

"After a few months, she began plucking her own feathers. She was miserable, desperate to leave that cage. At night, I would hear agitated wingbeats and the sound of her smacking herself against the bars, trying frantically to find a way out." Phillip's voice thickens, a choked sound lodging, constricting in his throat.

Phineas's chest constricts in kind.

"Eventually, she stopped eating. I…" Phillip's Adam's apple dips, muscles in his jaw working. Phineas is both alarmed and not surprised in the least to see the mist of tears shimmering on the surface of impossibly blue eyes.

He wars with himself over whether to cut Phillip off. But… it seems that this story, however painful, is one that needs to be told. A wraith haunting Phillip's mind that needs to be driven out for him to finally be relieved of the burden of carrying it with him all these years.

"I-- Found her, one morning, a pile of tattered feathers crumpled on the bottom of her cage. She--" Phillip forces the words out. His tears begin to well over. "She starved herself. She couldn't… Being trapped in that cage was too much for her. She couldn't bear it any longer."

"Oh, Phillip, I--" Ever a man of grand, inspired words to spare, Phineas finds himself unable to think up a response. What could he _possibly_ say that would be adequate, provide Phillip with the comfort he needs? _"I'm sorry"?_ ** _Absolutely_** _not._ Insufficient hogwash is what that would be.

"At times, I wanted to share her fate. Drown myself, like her namesake."

Once more, the admission is no shock. Part of Phineas always suspected as much.

But, _hearing_ it… Having it _confirmed_ …

Oh, Phillip. His unfairly, _grossly_ anguished, tormented--

Wordlessly, he gathers Phillip into his arms, lets soundless tears soak his nightshirt. "Perhaps…" he says, gently, carefully, "dying granted her the freedom she desired. But there are other, better ways to set yourself free. You found one, didn't you?"

"Yes," Phillip answers. Hardly more than a whisper. He sniffles, cheek pressing into Phineas's collarbone.

"So, enjoy it. Cherish it. Live your life to the fullest as a way of paying tribute to her. In her memory."

Phillip is silent for a long moment, his arms tightening around Phineas the only sign that his mind is still focused on the present and not swallowed and consumed by those wraiths and demons. "For her."

It's as much question as affirmation.

"Yes. For her, and for yourself, and me, and everyone else who loves you dearly." Phineas lowers his head to press a soft kiss to Phillip's hairline. "More than you could ever imagine."

Phillip draws in a shuddering breath.

For the rest of the night, until the milky light of dawn slips through the curtains, pooling in a shaft on the bed, Phineas holds Phillip, caresses his back, strokes through his hair, willing to keep him safe in this embrace _as long as Phillip needs._

He sends a prayer out into the universe, hoping that poor broken-hearted and inconsolable Ophelia's spirit has finally found peace. And, thanks whatever cosmic entity might be listening that he found Phillip just in time.

ii.

"We'll do right by her, this time," Phineas vows, forest green and liquid honey eyes and a soft smile cementing it. With his typical showman's flair, he removes the cover from the cage, revealing--

Phillip's heart and breath stop in unison.

Snow white plumage, a beak the subtle pink of carnation petals. It couldn't-- _How_ \--?

But, it's _Phineas_. Achieving the impossible, the improbable, and the breathtakingly _incredible_ comes as naturally to him as far-reaching ambition, extravagant fantasies that defy every convention, proudly showcasing all that he is and can be to a world that will never fully embrace him, and wanting to give the people dearest to him everything their hearts could ever desire and more.

"Her wings aren't clipped, and, well, you know how I feel about cages."

Phillip's hands flex at his sides. "Phin," he says, his voice thin and watery, "you didn't have to… "

"Go on." Phineas nods toward the cage, composed of elegant silver bars and containing not one, but _two_ perches, as well as a tiny domicile and trinkets and baubles for a bird to entertain herself when she's retired to her quarters. _Retired_ , because this Ophelia- Phillip's chance to atone and right his most egregious wrong of the past- will **_never_** know what it is to be trapped.

Stepping forward on pins and needles, Phillip unlatches the cage with trembling hands. He reaches into the opening, carefully extends a hand, index finger first, and ever so gently brushes his knuckle along the feathers on Ophelia II's head.

_Soft as down._

Low, curious coos greet him in response, and he smiles, tears stinging behind his eyes.

"Hello, Ophelia."

She watches him closely, eyes of polished obsidian fixed on his curled finger. She shows no signs of fear.

Phillip takes a chance, cups his hands delicately around her, and brings her out of her enclosure into the light of day, to a beaming Phineas's proud and total exulted delight.

iii.

A succession of three short, whistled notes brings a small shape, dazzling white against the cerulean sky, into a graceful descent. The sound of cushioned wingbeats reaches Phineas's ears as the shape sails in closer; a tiny wisp of cloud drifting down to earth.

With a low coo and talons outstretched from feet carnation pink, Ophelia lands on the gloved hand Phillip proffers her.

"Welcome back," Phillip whispers. The fingers of his ungloved hand stroke the satin feathers on his dove's head, no trace of the timorous hesitation he displayed within the first few weeks of their reunion.

Or, perhaps, _introduction_ is more appropriate.

In either case, as Phillip touches his cheek to the little bird and she fondly rubs her sweet, downy head against it, the bond between them is clear for all to see.

And, the smile that illuminates Phillip's face, outshining thousands of spotlights and one million suns, is one of pure **_joy_**. Unbridled. Untempered. Plush pink lips parted to show off brilliant teeth that perfectly match Ophelia's snowy plumage. Crinkles wonderfully scrunching his lightly freckled nose.

He's come so far from the dour, melancholy young man that Phineas took under his wing, and the smile that Phillip once donned like a mask, that Phineas once had to request from him ( _rather_ ** _snidely_** , Phineas thinks, admonishing his past self for his sharpness of tongue and carelessness of demeanor in his ambition-induced blindness) now makes genuine appearances entirely of its own volition.

And, _this_ one, **_this_** particular smile, infectious and radiant and truly unlike any other in the universe, is Phineas's _favorite_.

It reminds him exactly why he got into this business. And, why, indeed, _the_ _noblest art_ is that of making others happy.

If he can get this smile to emerge, to light up even the small corner of the world that he and his spectacularly unusual family have carved out and made their own, if he can finally relieve his Phillip, the second half of his heart, his partner in all things, the man who _saved_ him when he was _unworthy_ of being saved, of the guilt and grief that have plagued and beleaguered him for years, then Phineas Taylor Barnum's life, and legacy, is that much more _extraordinary_.

"Let's go home," Phillip says, message intended for both bird and showman.

Ophelia flutters her wings, giving her feathers a lovely riffle.

"Looks like we're all in agreement," Phineas replies, with a grin to mirror Phillip's. Content, and proud, and heart full as it has ever been, he leads Phillip and his dove, once named for a Shakespearean tragedy, now named for a brand new start, up the steps and through the doors of their home; where no cages of any kind have ever been, nor will ever be.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the most difficult thing I have ever written, to date. 
> 
> From somewhere around April of 2016, to April of 2018, I lost four pets due to circumstances out of my control. One of them was a cat that I considered my best friend for nineteen years. Another was a dog that I developed a deep emotional attachment to. 
> 
> Writing the first part of this story felt a lot like exorcising one of my own demons, though I don't believe that the guilt and sense that I "could have done something" will ever truly leave me. 
> 
> To any of you who may be struggling with the death or loss of a dear pet, your grief is _valid_ , regardless of what anyone might say to undermine or invalidate it. Pets are _family_. They're _friends_ , sometimes the only friends and family a person might have. And, they provide pure, unconditional love in ways that human beings often can't. 
> 
> Losing one can be, and is, every bit as devastating as any other familial tragedy. Please don't ever try to convince yourself that the intensity of your feelings is unjustified or unwarranted because it's "just an animal". 
> 
> That animal _meant_ something to you, and, therefore, it _matters_. It absolutely matters. 
> 
> And, with time, it _does_ get easier. 
> 
> Until then, I hope that [these resources](https://www.griefhealing.com/help-lines-message-boards-chats.htm) will offer you hope, and help you regain the strength to keep going, and perhaps allow another pet into your home and heart, somewhere down the line. Because you still have so much love to give. 
> 
> Be kind to yourselves, and take care. Until next we meet. ❤


End file.
